Love is Blind
by Roses-'Neath-the-Misty-Moon
Summary: AU. Pirate!Spain meets Romano in his hometown in Italy when they are both young, and Spain (almost accidentally) ends up kissing Romano, accidentally giving him a dangerous disease. Will Romano survive? Will Spain come back? Why don't you find out? :D (first fic, please be gentle xD) (Edit: rated M for later chapters )
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA!

The ancient, rounded mountains of southern Italy stood majestic in the night, still, silent sentinels over the sleepy countryside painted velvet by the light of the soft summer moon. The landscape was filled with muted tones of purple, the sea twinkling bright with the reflections of ten thousand stars, sharp in contrast with the fuzzy-edged town nestled in the hills. The waves hissed on the beach, lavender foam whispering sweet nothings to lilac sands, and the soft summer breeze swirling gently through the open windows of the old buildings, caressing the faces of two sleeping twins in an upper-story bedroom, the older curled protectively about the younger. These were the Vargas twins, heirs to Roman Vargas' famous pizzeria and pasta specialty shop. Business has been good, and these two teenagers dozed peacefully on their shared bed, the benevolent, half-lidded eye of the moon gazing favorably upon them. But the moon hid her pretty eye behind a gallant, scudding cloud as a pirate galleon came swiftly slicing the amethyst waters of the peaceful harbor. Without waking the watchmen, five lookouts, the lithe boys who flew through the rigging, manipulating the sails like a wolf pack bringing down a caribou, slipped unnoticed onto the dock. At their head was a promising young pirate lad by the name of Antonio Carriedo-Fernandez. They slipped into the guardhouse and slit the men's throats. Four of them went back, but Antonio moved forward. He was looking for a treasure rumored to lie on the roof of the most prominent man in the city: Roman Vargas.

Like a fox among sleeping chickens, Antonio moved stealthily up the hill, scaling a drainpipe with the ease of a born climber. He leapt gracefully from rooftop to rooftop, gilded silver and silhouetted against the star-strewn sky and the lazy moon. Landing with barely a whisper on the tiled rooftop of Casa Vargas, he padded towards the chimney, where the weathervane was rumored to conceal a treasure map. He froze, however, as he spotted a dark shape leaning against the chimney, a single flyaway curl dark against the stars.

"Who is he?" whoever it was asked, and Antonio recognized the voice to be male, about three or four years younger than his own age, which was seventeen. "I keep dreaming about that bastard..."

Realizing the child was soliloquizing, he forced himself to move soundlessly as he crept closer to the chimney.

"He has eyes as green as the grass in a meadow and hair like the soft earth of a tomato garden," the boy continued, "but the tomato-bastard never leaves his name! Is he only wishful thinking? He'd better not be, the stupid bastard!" From this close, Antonio could see the child's lip trembling in the most adorable I'm-about-to-cry face he'd ever seen. Upon closer inspection, he was a very adorable child indeed, with light-brown eyes (filled with tears though they were), round cheeks puffed out in irritation and dismay, and soft brown locks framing an expressive face and cherubic lips. The boy's mouth was twisted into a pout, and Antonio had the strangest desire to see what it looked like when he smiled.

Shaking the feeling off, he relieved the weathervane of its burden, which was a rolled-up scroll in a weatherproof oiled leather tube. He grinned. Their informant had been right, then. And then Antonio's luck faltered: he lost his balance. Wobbling precariously, he grasped the weathervane for support, but alas, it emitted a slight creaking groan under the sudden weight.

The Italian boy turned, and his expression morphed into one of wonder. "Y-you...?" he asked, his voice an awestruck whisper. Then it began to gain volume as he recovered. "You're the bastard who-!"

Antonio shut him up the first way that came into his head: he kissed him.


	2. Chapter 2

Hi! :D Sorry I haven't updated in so long; school has decided to be an arse XD  
I don't know if you can tell (I hope not! XD) but this story is currently unbeta-d. So if anyone (a) knows what the heck the whole beta thingie is about and (b) is interested in the job, y'all should tell me XD ((also yes I do abuse the "XD" face horribly lol))

Anyway. Sorry for this horrible A/N, I haven't quite figured this thing out yet lol. Go read some Spamano and ignore my fails, yes? :3

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA!

The Spanish youth tasted like rum, tomatoes, and weird spices. His kiss was soft, sweet, and...shy? Was this his first kiss? Lovino had no idea. All he knew was that it was his first, and it felt amazi-hey! He was being kissed! By pirate! A _male_ pirate, no less! Before Lovino had recovered enough to shove the insolent teen away, he was gone, vaulting across the rooftops with a catlike grace Lovino knew from his dreams and had never seen in anyone else. His cheeks bright red, Lovino watched him leap away, one hand covering his recently-assaulted mouth. Instantly he reached behind him for the diary he kept tied to the weathervane...but his hand met only empty air. That bastard! That stupid bastard had stolen Lovino's diary!

As he fled the scene of his first kiss (stupid, Antonio, stupid!) Antonio felt his cheeks flush but told himself it was only because of the wind._ At least I have the map_, Antonio reflected as he reboarded his ship. He opened the cylinder in his hammock, pulling out an entire sheaf of papers covered in a round and yet spiky hadwriting wrapped around the map he'd been looking for. Setting aside the map, he quickly realized that these papers must be the Italian's diary. Shrugging, he began to read them.

The next morning, Lovino woke up with a headache and a sore throat. _Serves me right for kissing a goddamn pirate_, he snarled to himself as he staggered around, trying to get dressed. He knocked over a table, cursing violently. Feliciano shot bolt upright in bed.

"Don't kill me, I have relatives in-eh? Lovi?" Lovino's twin asked, his chocolate-brown eyes wide with worry. "Lovi, are you all right?"

Lovino was not all right. Lovino was lying in the floor, his head clutched in his hands.

"Veh, you have a fever," Feliciano said worriedly as he felt Lovino's forehead with one wrist. "Were you out on the roof again yesterday? I told you that you would get sick! Veh, Nonno!" Feliciano called down to their grandfather. A big man with curly hair and laughing, sparkling eyes, Roman Vargas was serious for once as he examined Lovino.

"It looks like scarlet fever," he said, concerned. "Feli, run for the doctor."

Feliciano's eyes widened. He nodded, accepting the coins his grandfather pressed into his hand before running out at top speed, which was saying something. If you could scare Feliciano badly enough to make him run, he could run like the wind. And the scarlet fever scared Feliciano. It was a disease that had ravaged many port towns, especially the ones frequented by pirates. It left few survivors and was known to blind and/or deafen its victims. Feliciano crossed himself as he ran, praying that Lovino would be spared.


	3. Chapter 3

I apologize for the suckish update rate, I shall strive to do better ^/^; Also, the beta-reader spot is still open if anyone's interested :3 *shot for sticking an A/N before a chapter-after-a-cliffhanger*

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA

Lovino was propped up on pillows, his glassy eyes wide and staring. He saw not the bustling of his family and the doctors around him as they tried to calm him, however; he saw a pirate ship. Standing confidently on the deck, shouting orders to the deckhands as they scurried madly about their business, was a pirate painfully familiar to Lovino, the one from his dreams and from the roof a week ago. He looked older, though, closer to twenty or twenty-five. He was as lithe, lean and catlike as ever, but he seemed troubled, his orders snappish and brooking even less argument than usual (which was none). There was an anxiety and a furious fire burning in his peridot eyes that made Lovino wonder what he was protecting. The ship was approaching his own town, which, Lovino saw with a painful thud of his heart, was burning. The captain leapt ashore, battleaxe in hand, searching for something...or someone.

Feliciano watched the yelling Lovino anxiously, clinging to his grandfather's hand. "Will he be all right, Nonno?" he asked, worried. "Is he okay? Why is he talking about pirates?"

"He's delirious," the doctor interrupted brusquely. "He's seeing things that aren't real."

"But will he be okay?"

"We don't know, Feli," Roman Vargas said gently, taking his grandson's hands in his own. "Scarlet fever is dangerous."

Feliciano tried not to cry. "He can't die!" he wailed, burying his face in his grandfather's shirt. "He...he's Lovi! He can't die! I need him, Nonno; we all do!"

Roman held Feliciano close. "All we can do is pray and hope for the best. The doctor is doing all he can."

The doctor handed Roman a bottle of pills. "See that he takes these twice daily, si? Also, willow-bark tea is good for fevers. Give him plenty of that. He probably won't be able to eat much, but try to give him some broth. I will come back to check on him tomorrow."

"Grazie," Roman said as he showed the other man out. The doctor nodded and went out into the streets. Upstairs, Feliciano knelt at Lovino's bedside, his elbows resting on the covers, praying fervently.

Antonio had given the map to his father, the captain, earlier, and now he was reading the Italian's diary. His commentary on daily life in his town was amusing, but the entries about how the other boys at his school teased him made Antonio's blood boil. He had the most peculiar feeling that by taking the Italian's diary (Lovino Vargas, according to the diary) and kissing him, he had somehow claimed him for his own. Antonio shrugged. He had an Italian now. The world could just deal. He continued reading, finding entries about dreams Lovino had had. They described episodes of Antonio's life with startling clarity. There was an entry about the time Antonio had broken his arm falling out of the rigging, an entry about the dog Antonio had gotten for his sixteenth birthday, and many more. It was intriguing and also sort of terrifying. How much did Lovino know? Where did these dream-visions come from?

The final entry recounted a recurring dream of Lovino's. In the dream, Lovino would wake but be unable to see, rocked by a strange movement of the world, wrapped in someone's arms as a baritone voice softly sang a lullaby. He'd even written down the words, and Antonio realized with a jolt that they were in Spanish, with some mistakes that an unknowing, not-understanding listener might make, and that it was the song his mother used to sing to him before she died. She had been hung for piracy. Antonio was amazed but confused. Was Lovino a psychic? He didn't know. What he _did _know was that he'd be revisiting that Italian town, never mind what chores his father made him do in return.

A/N: DUN DUN DUN! xD Review and let me know what you think, please! Also, please let me know if you spot any discrepancies/typos/mistakes, especially when we get to the foreign-language part, because I speak neither Italian nor Spanish and my translations will come from the internet. Ciao, all, and thanks for reading~! :'D


	4. Chapter 4

Whooo~! :'D Told y'all I'd be updating more *coughandshirkingmymathscough *

Thank you for all the lovely reviews, sweeties, y'all make my day :'3 Enjoy your next chapter of not-so-plot-building Spamano~! (Though there will be some plot-building, 'cos you have to build your ship before you can sail it xD)

ANYWHO. Chatterbox author-lady stfu-ing now. Bon appetit~! xD

Two years later, a tall, swarthy Spanish youth strode into the bustling Italian town as it prepared for one of its many festivals. His green eyes flashed under his broad-brimmed red hat with its tall white plume waving proudly in the gentle breeze. A matching red coat with gold-thread trimming swirled elegantly about his knees, as dashing as the impish grin on his face. Flanking him was a Prussian albino and a blond Frenchman, both pirates like himself. Gilbert, the albino, was about a head taller than the other two, and a tiny yellow chick named Gilbird perched on his black hat. Francis, the Frenchman, was tastefully clothed in blue and red, his charisma and natural charm attracting men and women alike.

"So, Antonio," he said, winking at a trio of voluptuous brunettes past whom Antonio strode without a second glance, "care to tell me why we 'ave just left zhose poor ladies all alone? Zhey looked razher lonely, _non_?"

"I'll tell you vhy, Franny-pants," Gilbert cut in, cackling. "It's because Tonio has an imaginary sveetheart vaiting for him here, vhich means he's not interested in zhe usual pleasurable company." He flashed the trio a wolfish grin over one shoulder, and one of them swooned, which wasn't helping his ego any.

"'Ow could I 'ave forgotten?" Francis sighed, flicking Antonio's hat. "It isn't like 'e's been bending our ears wizh tales of 'is _petit amour_."

"Ah! Look!" Antonio cried suddenly, pulling the other two into an alley with him. "There he goes! Isn't he cute?"

Gilbert and Francis dutifully looked. The youth to whom Antonio was referring was an irate Italian with light brown eyes and darker brown hair, with a funny little curl poking out at the top of his head. He was yelling at someone, waving his arms for emphasis; in one hand he held a tomato.

"Tonio, _mon cher_, 'e is razher adorable, _oui_, but . . . does 'e even remember you?"

"Ja, of course he does, remember? He's a _psychic_," Gilbert snorted, rolling his eyes. Antonio glared at him. He was beginning to regret letting that slip.

"Hush. I'm not here to reclaim him, not just yet," Antonio said, his _r_'s rolling from his tongue in the typical Spanish fashion. "I'm checking on him. He's barely old enough to be married at fifteen or sixteen," he mused.

"You'd better go be awesome and snatch him up, zhen, before some vench saves you zhe trouble," Gilbert snickered as a attractive-looking Italian girl ran up and hugged Lovino's arm, looking entirely too smug about it. Lovino's face grew even redder and his scowl deepened, but he did nothing to remove her.

"Is he...engaged?" Antonio gasped, spotting the ring glinting on his finger.

-

Sorry for short update; my uncle decided to visit and I didn't find out until this morning. But hooray, cliffhangers! xD


	5. Chapter 5

Wow, it has been a long time... *is shot* I AM SO SORRY PLEASE DON'T KILL MEEEEE ;n; anyway. have some lovely Spamano xD and please forgive its absentminded author

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA

Lovino glared, vexed, at Maria Catharina, his arranged fiancee and the source of most of his annoyance, which, coming from Lovino, was saying something. His grandpa had made him promise to be nice to her, so nice he must be.

"Loviiiiii~" she squealed, her voice grating on his eardrums. "Loviiiiii, come on! You promised you'd take me to see the docks!" Her grip on his arm was painfully tight and irritatingly insistent. Regretfully leaving the argument in which he'd been happily engaged, Lovino was dragged against his will towards the dock. Suddenly a trio of sailors stepped out of an alley, putting Lovino instantly on his guard. The one on the right was a tall albino with an evil grin, the one on the right was a Frenchman with a sorrowful expression, and the one in the middle made Lovino's heart stop. It was the Spaniard from his dreams. He looked extremely angry about something, but his gaze was fixed on Maria.

"Who are you?" Maria Catharina demanded, her high, shrill voice painfully close to Lovino's ear.

"_Soy el capitán Antonio Fernández Carriedo, moza, y os servirá bien para recordar!_" the Spanish pirate snapped.

The Frenchman laid a hand on his arm. "Losing your temper now will do no good, 'Tonio," he warned.

"_¿Te parece que me importa?! Esta rata se atreve a moverse en mi territorio!_" the other, Tonio, shot back angrily.

"Keep your pants on, Antonio," the albino warned, grabbing the Spanish man by his shoulders and spinning him around to look into his eyes. "Zhis is neizher zhe time nor zhe place for zhis."

The Spaniard, Antonio, growled deep in his throat. "_No voy a esperar y dejar que alguna malnacida descarada me lo robe,_ Gilbert!"

"I'm not asking you to," Gilbert replied, his red eyes looking into Antonio's green ones calmly. "I'm asking you to vait for zhe opportune moment."

"_Oui_!" the Frenchman added. "_L'amour_ is a matter of timing, _mon cher ami_, and now is not zhe time. Look, _ton petit ami_ is razher, 'ow do zhe English say it, nonplussed? You are not making a good first impression, _mon cher_."

"Francis..." Antonio began, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, obviously trying to calm his wrath enough to engage in logical argument. Lovino's eyes were as big as saucers, Antonio's voice sending shivers down his spine. He knew it so well, and yet he had never spoken to the man before. He'd kissed-_been_ kissed, he corrected himself irritatedly, by him once, but that was two years ago and completely involuntary. He was vaguely conscious of Maria Catharina cowering behind him, but he was awestruck by the presence of the very Spaniard for whom he'd yearned all these years (and hated himself for doing it).

"_Cosa_?" he barked, finally finding his voice.

Antonio's eyes lit up at the sound of his voice and he turned to face him, bowing flamboyantly. "_Mi dispiace_," he said smoothly in Italian, reaching into his coat. "I wanted to give you back your diary, eh?"

Lovino's face flamed scarlet, and he ignored Maria's whoing and whatting and whying behind him. "Eh?!" he demanded.

"I accidentally made off with it a couple of years ago, _novio_," Antonio explained, his green eyes dancing merrily. "I figured you'd want it back, eh?"

Lovino gaped at him, speechless with rage. He was reminding him of that childish habit in front of anyone and everyone..._why_, again?!

Antonio chuckled, a wide grin crossing his face. Before he could reply, however, his German friend, Gilbert, cut in. "Kesesesesese, you look like a fish vhen you do zhat!"

Lovino snapped his mouth shut and glowered at him. "Fuck you!"

Gilbert had the gall to laugh at him, an annoying nasal cackle. Antonio pulled out the oilskin tube he'd taken so long ago and presented it to Lovino, who snatched it out of his hands angrily. "You'd better not have read it, bastard!" he snarled.

Antonio smiled at him, a dazzling, heart-melting smile as bright as the sun, took his friends by the arms, and strode off down the street, talking animatedly with them. Lovino watched them go, his heart pounding in his throat and his hands clenching around the oilskin tube.

Spanish translations (EDIT: from a lovely person named pekebella, who was kind enough to take pity on a poor n00b American and translate for me. Thank you, you wonderful person~! :'D):

-Soy el capitán Antonio Fernández Carriedo, moza, y os servirá bien para recordar! - I am Captain Antonio Fernández Carriedo, wench, and it would serve you well to remember it!

-¿Te parece que me importa?! Esta rata se atreve a moverse adentro en mi territorio! - Do I look like I care?! This rat dares to move in on my territory!

-No voy a esperar y dejar que alguna malnacida descarada me lo robe, Gilbert! - I will not stand by and let some lowborn minx steal him away from me, Gilbert!

If any of y'all spot any mistakes with the translations, please let me know so I can fix them ^/^;


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